How to give up a good thing and gain something far greater.
By Patrick Wood
When the manager of a new retreat center in rural Minnesota approached me with a job opportunity, my immediate thought was to say no. The center needed a groundskeeper over the summer—someone to paint walls and do yard work before the grand opening. But taking the job would mean spending three months living in a trailer, in the woods, completely alone.
Accustomed to urban surroundings, I immediately thought of everything I’d be lacking—TV, air conditioning, Pizza Hut, spending money, and most of all, friends. Could I really go without so much for so long?
Being alone in the woods for a prolonged period has a double edge: feeling lonely during the day and spooked at night. Facing these apprehensions was hardly my notion of a summer well spent. But I realized that serving the kingdom of God was more important than my comfort. What’s more, I could use the lesson in crucifying the flesh (Galatians 5:24).
And of course, those moments I feared came to pass. Times got lonely planting grass under the hot sun, and days grew longer—not because of the summer’s extended light, but for lack of another human being.
I continued to seek God as the summer progressed, and soon my reason for being at the center became clear: He wanted to make Himself known to me. The weeks rolled by and God’s presence became much more obvious, filling those voids of loneliness and dissolving my apprehensions. Instead of silence, there was His voice, almost as clear and frequent as the breeze. Either He was more talkative than usual or my ears were finally available to listen.
Something about the tall oaks and open sky—occasionally with a bald eagle soaring through it—kept my mind on “things above,” on the grandeur of God and all that might be possible in a lifetime with Him. In retrospect, He was helping me become more heavenly-minded, as they say, so I might be of some earthly good. Years later, I have no doubt this was among the wisest investments I’ve ever made.
Such are the rewards of ascesis, or the giving up of things for spiritual gain. It’s a two-sided coin. On one side is a temporary sacrifice of some kind, perhaps a pleasure such as food, music, or Internet usage. On the other is the prize that follows—a fuller measure of “Christ in you, the hope of glory,” which yields a pleasure more potent, meaningful, and steadfast (Colossians 1:27).
And yet, discovering the beauty of this exchange doesn’t require three months of living in the boondocks. Within the parameters of our daily lives, any number of things can be purposefully set aside to create more room for God. What will be required, however, is a “spirit of power and love and self-control” (2 Timothy 1:7 ESV). Because while the awesome rewards of ascesis are usually not obvious to the imagination, the dreaded sacrifices certainly are.
Suppose, for instance, you’ve wanted to grow in Christ by learning to recognize His voice. When the book you ordered on the topic finally arrives, the question becomes when to read it. Although other slots of free time are available, you consider that primetime hour when your favorite TV show is on.
Perhaps making this sacrifice for one week would express a strong statement of devotion, just as David revealed his heart by refusing to give offerings that cost him nothing (2 Sam. 24:24). True, God won’t be upset if you choose a different time slot, but that’s hardly the point. The fact is, laying down your desires before Him is an expression of love that demonstrates through tangible action that He is your chief delight. This in itself is a great reward.
Television, like any other temporary pleasure, can’t compete with the “surpassing riches” Jesus has in store for us (Eph. 2:7). A fuller experience of Christ is possible when we commit ourselves to the discipline of giving up good things and sticking to the plan. So, skip that show, log off the Web, or reschedule that vacation. In light of all you could gain, just think: What do you have to lose?
